


Identification Code: Unidentified

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 084day, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"See I grew up here, on Terra, so technically that makes me Terran.” [otherwise known as a star trek au]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Identification Code: Unidentified

**Author's Note:**

> So a lovely anon on tumblr prompted me to write a Star Trek au for 084day, and as I am a huge Star Trek fan I simply could not resist.

“Space, the final frontier,” Skye reads the words off the pamphlet in an increasingly sarcastic tone of voice, “the mission of Starfleet is to-”

“You’re terrible,” he informs her, snagging the pamphlet out of her grasp.

“I still can’t believe you enlisted,” she states, watching as Miles continues packing his bags, stuffing everything he owns (which isn’t much) into his duffle bag.

“It was the only way to get out of here,” he explains.

She knows he’s not just talking about the shithole of an orphanage that they would sometimes pretend to call home. He’s talking about the whole damn planet, about _earth._ There weren’t too many ways to get off planet without paying an arm and a leg for it, unless you were an incredibly gifted scientist or diplomat.

For everybody else, that left one option, Starfleet.

“Haven’t you ever wondered,” Miles asks. He knows she has, it’s cruel for him to even ask that, but at the same time she understands the point he’s trying to make.

Rather than answering him she just squares her shoulders and heads out of the room.

When she lays awake that night unable to sleep she tries to pretend the reason she let Miles leave without saying goodbye was because he joined Starfleet, not because she felt like he was abandoning her.

It didn’t work.

\---

Everybody wonders where they come from, especially in a place like this, where it’s perfectly common to see somebody with green skin or extra body parts.

Everybody stares up at the stars and wonders what planet they're from, what life they could have lived had things been differently, or who they’re supposed to be.

The difference between her and the rest of them is that while they all want to figure out the answers, she knows somewhere in the back of her mind that figuring them out won’t lead to anything good.

\---

She’s barely past eighteen, three weeks out of the orphanage and already she’s sitting in a jail cell.

The nuns had warned her that her rebellious streak could get her in trouble, but it wasn’t until it had actually happened that she believed it. To be fair, she had just been looking for information, nothing too dangerous, though Starfleet didn’t take it lightly when people broke into their secure servers.

“Do you wish to make a comm,” the robotic police man, whom she had lovely dubbed Robocop, asks.

“Nah,” she replies lazily, “don’t really have anybody to call?”

“Understood,” Robocop replies in his automated voice, before moving away from the cell bars to observe her, or whatever it is that those things did during their downtime.

She flashes him a grin that obviously gets no reaction, before settling into the corner of her cell, it’s going to be a long night.

\---

The next morning though it’s not a Robocop that lets her out of her cell, but rather a man with a slightly receding hairline that keeps his tone as neutral and polite as possible.

He reminds her of the social workers that used to stop by the orphanage from time to time, but there’s something else about him that’s actually welcoming.

If it wasn’t from the dark, obviously Starfleet, uniform she might have been willing to share some information with him.

“Miss Poots,” he says, reading off the file that the Robocop had handed him.

“Skye,” she interrupts automatically, “my name is Skye.”

“Skye,” he corrects with a soft smile, before a moment later his expression shifts to something that is most clearly not a smile. “I’m sure you know why I’m here?”

“Because I hacked Starfleet and that’s _illegal,_ ” she supplies sarcastically.

A part of Skye hoped that her punishment would be being sent to one of those fancy prisons on the moon, because at least then once she escaped she would be one step further from this mess of a planet.

Another part of her though really didn’t like the idea of going to prison.

“Well, yes there’s that,” he replies, not bothered by her sarcasm, “but actually, I’m here because of the information you were looking for. You see the reason your search didn’t return any results...”

Later she can’t be certain if she heard the rest of what he had to say, the numb feeling that spread through her was too sudden, the rush of emotions that she couldn’t contain or comprehend, it all happened so fast.

She just knew that it was surprisingly easy to run out of there and never look back.

A business card sits heavy in her pocket for so long that she can almost pretend it’s not there at all.

\---

She doesn’t call the number on the business card until years later when she’s drunk and sitting in yet another prison cell. She’s got an ice pack pressed to her cheek and a black eye already beginning to blossom by time the person on the other end of the comm picks up.

He’s in his command golds this time, looks slightly exhausted, but still having managed to answer the comm.

She thinks that probably says something about a person’s merit.

Before he can even ask she says, “I’m not sure if you remember me, but-”

“I remember you.”

“Yeah, well I vaguely recall you saying that if I was ever interested in Starfleet I should give you a call,” and it’s not like she’s interested, but there’s a three strikes rule with arrests around here and she doesn’t have any better options, so she pauses, takes a deep breath and finally says, “well, I’m interested now.”

\---

“You’re not Terran,” the woman reading over her papers, states, “and yet, you felt the need to mark that you are.”

“I am, though,” Skye insists, “see I grew up here, on Terra, so _technically_ that makes me Terran.”

The other woman lets out a slightly awkward chuckle, “if only it were that easy.”

Skye doesn’t understand why it can’t be.

In the end, they end up settling on Vulcan because of her blood and the slight point of her ears.

It’s not the truth, but it is just enough to slide through the screening process and that’s what matters.

\---

“Aren’t Vulcans supposed to be emotionless blobs,” says the guy sitting next to her at orientation.

“I’m not Vulcan,” Skye says.

“Your name tag says that you’re Vulcan,” he points out.

“Yeah, well does your name tag say that you’re annoying?”

\---

Her roommate has dark skin, dark eyes, and gives off the vibe that she can probably read Skye’s mind.

Something that doesn’t see too impossible, given everything else Skye’s seen lately.

It the end she decides she’s okay with it, because at least it means that she doesn’t ask questions. Though their lack of communication causes a slight problem and it takes three weeks before Skye finally learns her roommate’s name.

\---

“Did you know red shirts have the highest percentage of deaths out of all Starfleet officers,” the guy sitting next to her says during their Introduction to Starfleet Regulations class.

“Yeah, well I like to live on the edge,” Skye quips.

The guy beside her grins, “oh me too, for sure, I’m a very _on the edge_ person.”

She doesn’t even bother to hide the skeptical look when she turns to take in the figure next to her, who flashes her a dorky smile and tries to adjust his obviously wrinkled uniform.

The light laugh that escapes her lips is a wonderful feeling, “if you’re trying to hit on me-”

“No, no, I’m not, not at all, you’re not my type actually,” he insists quickly and repeatedly, “I had thought though that you might need a friend.”

“And your first thought to break the ice was to mention how likely it was for us to die in space,” she tries not to think about Miles as she asks the question.

“If it makes you feel any better that statistic is mostly because of security officers,” he offers, “since they wear the same color as communications and engineering, it makes our jobs look more dangerous.”

“I don’t know,” Skye teases, “communications can be _pretty_ dangerous, far more than engineering at least.”

He snorts, “excuse me, who here handles nuclear reactors on a daily basis?”

\---

A few days later she’s getting drink with a rowdy group of cadets.

The guy from her regulations class, better known as Fitz, is leading the whole group in a terrible rendition of Happy Birthday, because apparently Skye not knowing her birthday meant that the next Friday was her designated holiday and even though she doesn’t know anybody in the bar they all seem happy to celebrate with her.

Of course that might have something to do with the fact that Fitz’s boyfriend has bought a round of drinks for everybody as part of the celebration.

She doesn’t mind in either case though because this is the first time in a long while that nobody’s questioned her lack of knowledge about herself, nobody’s pointed it out as odd that she didn’t care to know, they just accepted her and accepted things for what they were without hesitance and it’s really nice.

\---

“Skye! Hey Skye! Earth to Planet Skye, this is your captain speaking-”

She doesn’t even have to look up as brings her hand around to cover his mouth and muffle his talking, “I’m still hungover and I hate you,” she hisses.

It’s only when she finally looks up, because Fitz is being very mature and licking her hand, that she notices there’s somebody else there.

A young woman with red-brown hair pulled back from her face and a nearly immaculate uniform, offers Skye a shy smile from where she stands by Fitz’s side. “Oh I’m sorry, he’s awful, isn’t he?”

“Would you believe I’ve actually know worse,” Skye says, finally pulling her hand back from Fitz’s face.

“I’m not so sure I could,” she confesses.

Fitz lets out a groan, but waves between them after a moment, “Skye, this is Simmons, also known as my best friend in the world,” he then turns more toward the other woman and says, “Simmons, this is the one I was telling you about.”

“You were telling people about me,” Skye asks, even though Fitz wasn’t technically talking to her.

“Fitz mentioned that you had a unique biology and unknown origins,” Simmons says.

“Ah, _that._ ”

\---

If Simmons, _“call me Jemma,”_ wasn’t so interested in taking Skye apart she might have found actually found her presence enjoyable.

She was pretty and kind and much less exhausting to deal with than Fitz was.

“I’d rather not,” Skye says, after having listened to Jemma’s whole explanation about her research and thesis topic. “I mean, I’m pretty happy not knowing what it is that I am. I like not fitting in boxes, being something special.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Jemma insists, writing down her name and comm information on a sheet of notebook paper, before pushing it across the table towards Skye.

“I won’t,” Skye tells her, but she takes the paper all the same.

\---

“You know if you called her and asked for a date, she’d say yes,” Raina says, stringing more words together than Skye has ever heard out of her roommate.

“How did you-” dumb question.

“Did you read her mind or just mine?”

That’s at least a better question.

One that her roommates seems to pause a second before answering, a second that is just long enough for Skye to wonder if she’s going to turn back to her weird silent treatment thing.

Finally the second ends, and Raina says, “Cadet Simmons is in my xenobiology class.”

Oh, in that case.

\---

“So, while I’m not particularly keen on you cutting me open, or taking my blood and experimenting on it, I would be super cool with getting coffee with you or something, because-”

“Getting coffee would be more like actually asking me out on a date without you having to string together those exact words,” Jemma finishes for her.

“Yeah, that,” Skye answers, before narrowing her eyes at the other woman and asking, “you can’t read minds too can you?”

“Sadly I’m just a simple and boring human,” Jemma replies with a smile, “though my great-grandmother was rumored to have slept with an Orion once.”

“I don’t think that counts,” Skye tells her.

“No, I don’t suppose it does.”

“So coffee?”

“Coffee could be a good start,” Jemma says, but her smile has just a hint of sly to it, and Skye finds she quite likes the look on the other woman.

Yes, it was a _start_.

\---

Weeks later, lying in bed with Jemma beside her, the stupid scratchy Starfleet standard issue blankets pulled up around them, she finds herself saying, “you know, if you really wanted to figure out what I was, I could maybe be okay with it,” without even thinking about the words.

Jemma lets out a laugh and says, “really that’s the first thing that comes to your mind after we- you know.”

“It wasn’t the first thing,” Skye insists.

Her first thought was more along the lines of _holy shit_ or _how did I get so lucky_ , but this thought was pretty close up there.

It's not like Skye had never thought about it, these past few weeks when coffee quickly turned into something more, she had thought about it often. 

“I guess, I just realized that if anybody was going to figure it out, I’d want it to be you,” Skye confesses, her breath barely more than a whisper. Though it’s the next words she says that feel even more like a confession, the ones she struggles to push past her lips, “because I trust you.”

Jemma's voice is soft when she answers, "thank you," and presses a kiss to Skye's cheek, "for trusting me with this."

Her answer is enough to evaporate any doubts Skye might have had going into this.

"Though, if you don't mind, I would like to go on record saying that I didn't seduce you only to get a blood sample," Jemma says a second later in a far too rushed voice.

And this time its Skye's turn to let out a laugh, "not  _only,_ I'm sure." 

 

 


End file.
